


Tastāre

by sasyk



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Developing Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Raijin Days, eventual angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5065777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasyk/pseuds/sasyk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tastāre<br/>transitive verb from vulgar latin.<br/>1. to taste.</p><p>What does a monster taste like?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tasted like war.

**Author's Note:**

> For Lexy, 'cause she was the one who blackmailed me into posting my stuff.  
> This will be the collection of seven short, non-linear stories about Shizaya's kisses and what they taste like during very different moments of their relationship.

_Gymnasium , Raira Academy_  
_10:45 A.M._

 

They were both sixteen on that specific Monday.

During high school, Mondays were the days reserved for P.E. It had been, from the very first day, the kind of class Orihara Izaya and Heiwajima Shizuo never seemed around to attend. Despite promptly noticing their absence — _Orihara is not around… Again… I see. And, by the way, has anyone seen Heiwajima?_ — their teacher didn’t bother asking a classmate to go after them.

At some point, he had stopped worrying.

They would show up during the last five minutes of class; Shizuo’s uniform ripped to a raggedy mess of blue and white tatters, Izaya’s face adorned with an extensive bruise he would then carry for weeks.

The blonde teenager would scratch the back of his head, fumbling with cursory excuses, only to be interrupted amid words as the other boy mumbled clarifications to the events resulting in their absence.

He would present a smile while doing it.

A razor-blade smile that announced the lie behind his smooth tone.

A whistle between his lips, the teacher resigned himself to an exhausted glance at the names on the attendance list. With a loud sigh, he turned to his students so he could start class.

An hour of it,

a quick warm up; stretching and jumping jacks,

then a friendly volleyball game.

While counting the students’ jumps, he realized that had Shizuo and Izaya shown up, had Izaya refrained himself from whispering one or two taunts at Shizuo’s ear while they walked to the gymnasium, they’d probably end up on the same team.

In retrospect, it was almost a relief they weren’t around.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_The rooftop, Raira Academy_  
_11h21 A.M._

 

It took a little more than an hour,

seventy-six minutes,

four thousand, five hundred and sixty-five minutes.

A simple matter of miscalculation; Izaya thought the next swing of Shizuo’s fist would follow the pattern of movements he had adopted until that very moment.

He meant to dodge it.

Instead, the boy was sent flying across the rooftop as if weightless.

Izaya hit the fences that surrounded the area with a loud, clanging noise that seemed to reverberate through his mind as he slid to the floor. Something resembling relief was felt once he realized that the wire that now uncomfortably poked his back had prevented him from falling from the third floor.

As trembling hands supported his figure, the boy tried to focus on the floor below him. The surroundings seemed to spin as he observed a couple of red beads leaving stains on concrete. Blood invaded his mouth, warm and metallic against his tongue, and his wounded lips parted slightly.

Just enough to drop a faint laugh.

(Aah, this is fun.)

Accompanying the metallic buzz that lingered on his mind, he heard Shizuo’s steps towards him, raising his eyes as he approached.

Izaya expected to feel a tight grasp around his throat.

(Perhaps another punch.)

_Using his left fist this time. So the bruise that will soon spread through my face can have a match._

(Or he’ll simply grab me by shirt.)

_That’s also a possibility. Then he’d raise me until our eyes meet. His eyes would narrow, his teeth would grit and he would groan._

(Sounds fun.)

_Indeed._

Aloof to the dialogue filling Izaya’s mind with possibilities, Shizuo slumped next to him. He seemed exhausted. Sweat fell from his temples in drops, thin lines drawn on his jaw as his hands fumbled with the dark tie around his neck in an attempt to loosen it.

Izaya watched him—

(Nothing. Now _that’s_ surprising.)

—for a few instants longer than necessary.

There was something about the angle of the sun against his blonde hair. Something about the hastened movements his chest made as he tried to regain breath.

(Something about him.)

Izaya only felt capable of averting his eyes once Shizuo realized being observed, their gaze meeting for a brief moment.

“What?!”

He smirked. “Shizu-chan seems tired.”

“Of course i’m tired! You keep jumping around like a goddamn flea!”

Izaya’s laugh crossed the rooftop, concurrent with his erratic breathing pace. A painful sting followed it, traces of copper cumulating in his mouth as the wound on his lips let out warm drops of blood. It mixed with the sweat running down across his cheeks, dripping from his chin to form red stains on his shirt.

Unwittingly, izaya licked his own lips.

Brown eyes followed the subtle movement of his tongue.

They seemed to linger for a moment on the smooth curve of Izaya’s smile,

on the red staining him,

on the tongue that once again ran through the wound.

(Ah. Now that’s even more surprising.)

Upon realizing he had been gawking at Izaya’s tempting, compelling lips, Shizuo looked away, embarrassment aggravating at the smirk that twisted the corner of Izaya’s lips.

“Is there something wrong, shizu-chan?” he drawled. Shizuo once again ventured to peek at the movement of his lips as he muttered that nickname.

Izaya gazed up at him, smile broadening over his mouth and amused eyes scanning the faint shade of pink that spread through his face.

“No.”

“Mm, is that so?”

(This is fun.)

The usual glares Shizuo used to level on Izaya were colored with anger,

but the eyes going up and down on the curve on his lips had an obvious hint of desire.

The fame he carried as a monster would come from his abnormal strength,

but the chapped, dry lips opening and closing would mingle with the pink on his cheeks in an unusual demeanor that seemed too human.

The grunts he would give at Izaya as he approached would always advise him to stay away,

but Shizuo unconsciously leaned towards him as he licked his own lips once more, only hesitating upon feeling the warmth of his closeness.

Noses touched, their breaths sounding almost rhythmical. Shizuo locked eyes with the red staining the other boy’s mouth, incapable of reasoning. Incapable of backing off. Aware of being observed, Izaya slid his tongue once more over his lower lip.

“Having second thoughts?”

As a consequence of his taunt, he felt chapped lips crashing over his.

His lips tingled, smothered by a kiss that screamed Shizuo’s yearning, and parted as he tilted his head in acceptance for a second kiss.

Which preceded the third.

That announced the fourth.

Their lungs begged for air but the idea of letting go of the other’s lips seemed absurd.

Izaya pulled away first, both hands pushing Shizuo’s chest just enough for their lips to part. His eyes opened slowly and he wondered whether his heartbeat echoed as loud to Shizuo as it did against his ears.

“Aren’t we a little eager today?”, he breathed.

“Shut up! You kept doing… that!”

“I honestly don’t know what Shizu-chan is talking about…” opposed to the innocence on his tone, a smile increased over the lips that brushed against Shizuo’s.

“Just shut up!”

They kissed again.

The coppery taste of anger spread through their tongues.

The taste of the blood tainting Izaya’s lips with the same shade of red that refused to leave Shizuo’s mind.

His firm hands skimmed through the other boy’s back, as if needing reassurance that he wouldn’t escape from between his arms; they found their way to thin locks of hair and with a sudden jerk Izaya’s head snapped back, breaking the kiss one more time. His eyes were closed and Shizuo watched when a pleased chuckle left his mouth.

Izaya was black and white—

—and red.

Shizuo’s eyes had never laid onto something so beautiful and, yet, so dangerous.

He opened his eyes to stare at Shizuo and they seemed crimson when accompanied by the traces of blood that stained the cut on his mouth. Long fingers reached for the wound and then brushed against the other boy’s lower lip, smearing the red before pulling him for another kiss. Izaya’s fingertips moved smoothly through Shizuo’s body. They felt like shivers, slowly tracing every cut his blade made on that morning as he grinned with the satisfaction of an artist signing his masterpiece.

They kissed again.

Tasted like war.

Yet, they kissed once more.

Shizuo’s fingers firmly gripped the metallic wire as he pressed Izaya against it.

And, again, they kissed.

It was a bloodshed.

They kissed.

Izaya painted his monster with the colors of brutality.

They kissed.

Tasted like—

— _violence_.


	2. Tasted like sugar.

_Some debt collecting agency, Ikebukuro_  
_10:12 P.M._

 

They were both twenty-four years old on that specific Tuesday.

It was January 28th, Shizuo’s birthday.

“I suggest a solemnization.”

“Vorona’s right, Shizuo” with a smile, Tom patted Shizuo’s shoulder gently “Let’s celebrate. I heard about this new bar— ”

“Negative. Alcoholic beverages might cause withdrawal symptoms that involve depression and anxiety. I propose a travel to a nearby patisserie.”

After a brief moment blankly staring at both men, Vorona turned to Shizuo. A wisp of blond hair hovered over one of her eyes and with a quick movement of hands, she brushed it away.

“Birthdays are celebrated in numerous cultures, Japanese included. It often presents a specially made cake decorated with lettering and studded with the same number of lit candles as the age of the individual. Regrettably, at the moment candles are not available. Notwithstanding their absence, it is still possible to purchase a cake at a pastry shop.”

As he blinked out of his thoughts, a faint smile touched Shizuo’s mouth. His hand reached for her hair and left a couple of fond pats before once again finding his pockets.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll head home.”

Their eyes met for a moment. Within her stare, an inquiry.

 _Please explain,_ they seemed to request.

(I wonder what’s your justification.

Has an unacceptable event occurred?

Does it correlate with ‘the flea’?)

Within his eyes, silent and concise answers.

(It’s nothing.

Sort of.

Yes.)

At his last pat, fingers ruffled Vorona’s light hair, blonde locks hiding any further questions her eyes could ask.

Shizuo’s wave was brief and he silently walked away, being soon engulfed by the cacophony that rose around Tokyo’s night. As his hands once again hid into pockets, fingers brushed against his cellphone and he expected, almost wished that it would buzz.

It didn’t.

* * *

 

 _Heiwajima Shizuo’s apartment, Ikebukuro_  
_11:47 P.M._

 

“Evening.”

Surprised, Shizuo blinked a couple of times at the man sitting by his coffee table. Words tried to slip from him as he opened and closed his mouth, only to fade away once his eyes met Izaya’s.

He had many questions—

(Are you back?

Are _we_ back?

Or are you here just to pick up a fight?

Flea, what’s left to destroy?)

—but knew better than to expect honest answers from Izaya.

Shizuo lowered his gaze and emptied his pockets almost as if in search of the words left unsaid. Among black fabric, all he could find were his phone, a pack of cigarettes, three coins, and silence.

As he looked at Izaya again, eyes found the reminiscence of a bruise crawling up one of the sides of his face.

It seemed off. As if that greenish mark belonged to a completely different palette of colors.

It was his doing. Stains on Izaya’s body spread over the entirety of his lean frame.

Shizuo sighed in a mixture of resentment and guilt as he vividly recalled the moments of their last week; a troublesome couple of days during which hostility arose from both sides, feeling like stagnant air between them.

It was a Wednesday when Shizuo’s temper rose along with his voice,

in response, Izaya smiled.

Shizuo yelled and the floor seemed to shake,

Izaya mocked him.

Shizuo’s fist hit his face, nearly sending him flying across the room,

_Izaya laughed._

Shizuo lifted his body and hurled it against the television,

Izaya kept laughing, something deranged coloring his eyes.

He turned his back to the wrecked apartment and left. Along with him, echoed a single word.

_Monster._

Izaya’s words were like daggers and his aim was impeccable.

As days passed and the anger faded away, whether or not the distance between them would perdure became Shizuo’s main question.

“What are yo — ?” he presumed Izaya would take advantage of the hesitation lingering on his words. Were the other’s following sentences mockery or the beginning of an excessive long monologue, he didn’t care. He almost wished Izaya would say something.

He didn’t.

He offered nothing but silence as Shizuo’s sentence died between them.

It lasted about five minutes. An agonizing moment that seemed to last longer than the time they had been apart.

“That’s trespassing” Shizuo mumbled, hands on pockets and back leaning against the door.

“Ah. Of course. I believe I just crossed a line here. But if I recall it right, property damage and physical assault are not exactly endorsed by law…”

A dagger thrower.

“Did you come all the way from Shinjuku just to — ”

“Happy birthday.”

With a precise aim.

The words that left his lips cut Shizuo when he least expected; they carved their way through the room, severed the corner of Izaya’s lips in a smile, ripped Shizuo’s line of thought and left the end of his sentence torn to detached shreds at the once again silent room.

“I brought some cake.”

“You…?”

“Shizu-chan likes strawberry, isn’t this right?”

Some sort of quietness still lingered subtle between Izaya’s words — two or three extra seconds before a brief reply, too concise for someone that loved hearing their own voice as much as he seemed to do. An unusual, loud silence that spoke for him.

It said that the marks left on his body were about to fade away. That it didn’t hurt anymore. That the expenses of Shizuo’s destruction had already been paid. That Namie was almost pleased to know she’d have to redecorate Izaya’s apartment.

It said that he had to cross the entire Tokyo to buy the cake that lied with no candles on top of the coffee table. That he went to a bakery Shizuo once and only once mentioned. That Izaya didn’t need to remember such a small detail, but he did nonetheless.

It said that he didn’t want Shizuo to disappear along with his bruises.

It said that if Izaya said any of those things out loud, he would leave.

Uncertain of what to do, Shizuo approached his unexpected guest, sitting on the floor before him. The ruffling sound of calloused hands unwrapping the cake filled the apartment, almost too comfortable when compared to the previous silence. Elbows on the coffee table and hands supporting his chin, Izaya let his eyes rest on the man in front of him, unwittingly smiling while doing so.

Heiwajima Shizuo was known as the strongest man of Ikebukuro,

but the excitement on his eyes as he tried the first bite of the cake belonged to a child.

His temper was feared for those who came to know his name,

but the slight curve on his lips brought nothing but tranquility.

He who could rip off a street sign,

touched Izaya’s chin with light fingers, raising his face until eyes met.

He who hated Orihara Izaya,

leaned over the table in order to steal a kiss.

“Oi,” he mumbled, lips pressing against Izaya’s “You don’t have to come up with some excuse for yourself. You don’t have to turn your mind upside down while looking for some pretext to say out loud. Enough with this silence… If you’re back, if you want to stay and celebrate with me, then we can grab my lighter so I can make a wish.”

The surprise on Izaya’s face lasted but a fraction of a second. Raised eyebrows came down in a frown that opposed to the smirk cutting between locked lips.

“Shizu-chan tastes too sweet.”

(Shizu-chan is too sharp.)

The true meaning of his words hid not only between the lines of his answer but also in the way his lips lingered against Shizuo’s as he leaned on the table with a silent request for a second kiss.

(I’m back—

“I hate…”

perhaps a third.

—I want to stay.)

“… sweets.” and a fourth. The following kisses came without the need for asking.

They kissed again.

Shizuo’s lips brought the sweetness of whipped cream.

Tasted like the frosting staining the corner of his lips white. Izaya reached for it with his thumb, smearing it over Shizuo’s half opened lips before pulling his collar to get another kiss. He felt a smile curving the sweet, sweet mouth against his.

“I thought you said you disliked sweets” 

“I believe I used the word ‘hate’.”

They kissed,

amid lips tasting like fresh strawberries and sugarcoated words hiding their real meaning, lingered the very characteristic bitterness of Izaya’s kisses.

They kissed,

it was bittersweet.

And they kissed again.

Shizuo took his hands to the back of Izaya’s neck, fingers intertwined with his thin, black hair. Something about the curve on his lips lacked his usual malice. Seemed almost amiable, the way they parted so he could whisper _‘Happy birthday, Shizu-chan’_ inside of Shizuo’s mouth.

Once more, they kissed.

Shizuo felt like a sweet temptation pressed against Izaya’s lips.

So sweet, so simple.

A dessert.

Given to Izaya to consume—

_—from first to last bite._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is. Some tooth-rotting fluff to honor the name of this chapter. (Apparently I'm already getting in the mood for the Shizaya fluff month, oops.)  
> Anyway, thank you for reading! Comments and kudos always make me very, very happy.


	3. Tasted like nicotine.

_An empty bar, Ikebukuro._  
_10:47 P.M._

 

They were around twenty on that specific Wednesday.

It had been the sort of pleasant, uneventful day that would be soon left forgotten in the back of Shizuo’s mind.

Nothing was particularly worth remembering.

Not his late breakfast, nor the fact that he arrived five minutes late at his job for mismatching the buttons of his shirt and having to undo everything before properly buttoning them up again. Not the daring smile of the girl that mumbled ‘surprise me’ once he asked if she had picked a drink, nor the amount of times he refilled the glass of a middle-aged executive before he passed out on the balcony.

An average day. Excessively ordinary.

Almost as if anticipating something memorable.

“Care for a drink with me?”

Before he could notice the clench of his own fists upon hearing that very familiar tone accompanying the words whispered from behind his left shoulder, the wine glass he held broke into shatters.

It took Shizuo a couple of minutes to respond.

Two minutes for the vein bulging on his temple to go back to normal, eyes shutting close and teeth gritting at the fast pace of his heartbeat.

A minute and a half for his clutched fists to relax, glass leaving a few red welts against his palm.

Three minutes and a quarter for him to realize the concerned look the manager sent him, a tremble smile venturing to raise the corner of his lips as he waved a hand in an apology for the broken glass.

Fifty-two seconds for him to turn around to a smirk.

“I reckon that’s a ‘no’.”

“I’m working, they don’t allow me to—” once he realized being in the middle of an unnecessary explanation, Shizuo wrinkled his forehead with a frown. Izaya’s elbows rested on top of the counter separating them, hands serving as support for his chin, and his lips quirked a smile that earned an annoyed stare from the bartender.

“Too bad.”

“The hell are you doing here?”

Izaya leaned closer, the tip of his fingers ghosting over Shizuo’s buttons for a moment before the latter grabbed his wrist. A slight twist came as a warning and Izaya let out a bored sigh that didn’t match the broadening smile on his lips.

“You’re no fun.”

“Again: what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Perhaps I just wanted to have a drink.”

“The hell you did!”

Another sigh.

“Shizu-chan, are you that much of a single-celled person that you need to ask me something despite already knowing the answer or is it just that you want to hear me saying I’m here to fuck?”

Once again, it took Shizuo a couple of minutes to respond.

Seizing the opportunity, Izaya put a magnetic card on top of the counter. He amusedly watched the man before him muttering faltered words and pushed the hotel key towards him with his index finger.

“Shizu-chan’s shift ends in ten minutes, isn’t this right?”

 

* * *

 

 _An upper class hotel, room 1071._  
_1:13 A.M._

 

“That won’t do. Shizu-chan knows he’s not supposed to smoke in here.”

An annoyed glare crossed the room to reach the man leaning against the bathroom’s door. It paced from his reddish, half-lidded eyes to the smug smile twisting the corner of his lips. Then to the soft towel surrounding his neck, following the pattern of dark marks distributed through his bare chest and hesitating for a second or two on the black piece of underwear that hung low on his bony hips.

Shizuo gazed back to his eyes. He remained silent at first, but then let out a ‘tsk’ as the cigarette approached his lips once again.

“Not my fault that you keep booking non-smoking rooms.”

“They’re cheaper.”

Another drag. The single word that dropped from his lips was followed by white smoke.

“Liar.”

Izaya seemed to regard his statement for a brief moment, half of a smile cutting one side of his face before he lifted both of his shoulders in a shrug. He didn’t bother with further words, quietly crossing the room to pick up a pair of black pants that lied on the floor among bartender clothes.

Shizuo finished his cigarette and lit another, quietly watching through the thin layer of smoke as Izaya got dressed with quick movements that almost announced his hurry to leave.

His behavior didn’t come up as a surprise.

The closer they were, the more charged the air surrounding them would feel,

the more unstable they would become,

the more exposed to each other they would be,

the more their minds would ask for more.

Aware of that, Izaya would get dressed as soon as they were done. He would leave with a _‘that was fun’_ whispered from the door and a weird smile twisting his lips.

It reminded Shizuo of a mask.

(Are you that afraid of how human I can make you feel?

Or is it more than that?

Flea, does it scare you that much that you like it?)

“Well, that was fun.”

“Izaya.”

They were both surprised as the name echoed against the walls of the hotel room.

Not flea. Not louse.

 _Izaya_.

“Yea?”

“...”

He meant to ask what was it, sharp words echoing in his mind—

(Are you in the mood for another round?

I’m not sure if I can take it, Shizu-chan almost broke my hips tonight.

What happened? Are you angry?

Frustrated?

 _Lonely_?)

—but instead of saying any of them out loud, he stood very still and waited.

“Isn’t the room booked for the whole night?”

“It is. I thought Shizu-chan would leave after me as he always does, but feel free to spend the night. I suppose you’ll have to have to leave before noo—”

“Stay.”

He stilled next to the half-opened door and Shizuo could almost see his fingers hesitating over the doorknob.

“So loneliness it is...”

“...”

“What a beautiful irony, you asking that sort of thing to me, of all peopl—”

His sentence was cut short once he heard the thud of a half-smoked cigarette slammed on the bedside table.

“For fuckssake.” Shizuo groaned, head leaning against the headboard and eyes closing below knit eyebrows. “You’re so full of bullshit you must keep up with this idle chatting even when facing something as simple as a yes or no question.”

Some hints of uneasiness seeped out through the corners of Izaya’s lips despite his efforts to wear an amused smirk. Silence fell upon them, lasting no longer than a minute, and Shizuo heard the door closing. He sighed, opening his eyes slowly and expecting, albeit not hoping, to find himself alone at that expensive room.

“A yes or no question, you say. What if my answer is ‘maybe’?”

“Then you’re still bullshitting your way out of the question.”

“Probably. But still, maybe is all you’ll get.”

Shizuo hesitated upon feeling the mattress moving under Izaya’s weight.

“Maybe is fine.”

They lied side by side, listening to the muffled symphony coming from the city spread out beneath the window to their left. Neither of them felt the need of saying anything. Not when their hands brushed and Izaya could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Not when another cigarette was lit. Not when Shizuo put it down after barely taking a drag and leaned over the man by his side.

Not when he watched him from above for a pair of minutes, eyes slowly tracing his features.

Or when he bowed to brush his lips against Izaya’s neck.

The smell of tobacco filled their lungs as Shizuo’s breath ghosted over his skin.

“You wanna go again?” Izaya’s voice scratched the way out of his throat, coming out hoarse, and Shizuo denied with a hum.

“How long has it been?”, he asked.

(How long has it been since you last let me kiss you?

Since I tried to and you covered my mouth while laughing?

Since you started leaving as soon as we’re done so I couldn’t try it again?)

Izaya hesitated and Shizuo heard in his silence that he noticed the eyes following the curve of his lips.

“A while.”

“Almost a year, if I recall.”

“You sound almost as if you miss it.”

“Maybe.”

Izaya let out a laugh. His eyes traced Shizuo’s face in an attempt to avoid locking with his’ and his forehead wrinkled with a frown at the overwhelming feeling of that kind of intimacy building up between them.

The air felt charged.

He found himself unstable,

exposed,

and yet, a voice in the back of his head pleaded for more.

“Can I?”

“I bet Shizu-chan tastes like ashes right now.”

“Can I?”

“I am not fond of that nicotine taste.”

“It’s a yes or no question. Stop messing around. _Can I?”_

Unstable. Exposed.

_Wanting more._

“Maybe.”

“Maybe is fine.”

They kissed.

Shizuo had been dealing with withdrawal for long,

but now Izaya’s bitterness lingered on his tongue.

They kissed.

Tasted like tobacco.

Izaya claimed to hate it,

but once he had him against his mouth, arms surrounded the other’s neck to bring him closer.

They kissed.

Tasted toxic.

Izaya smiled with satisfaction against his lips, for he could feel that Shizuo could slowly kill him,

but that meant they would die together.

They kissed.

Fire burned their lungs as they parted to catch breath.

“Shizu-chan should stop smoking.”

They kissed.

He should.

He could.

“Maybe.”

He had found something more addictive than nicotine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially I had everything planned so I could post a drabble every week but some shit happened and this one took quite a while, I'm sorry.  
> Anyway, thank you very much for reading!


	4. Tasted like tears.

_You’ve got a new message. To listen to it, press one._  
_11:25 A.M._

 

“Izaya. It’s me. Shinra.

…

Well, it has been a while. If I’m not mistaken, three months passed since you’ve been gone and unreachable. Which is quite a surprise, since it has always been obvious to me that you can’t stay away for too long.

Oh, but I’m not at all complaining about your mysterious vanishing. The town gets remarkably peaceful when you’re not around. And yet I can’t help but wonder whether or not you’re alive. Are you listening to this message while sitting at the lounge of some random hotel or are you lying at the bottom of the ocean after getting on the nerves of the wrong kind of people?

More important than that, why did you leave on the first place?

Did you hit some sort of hornet nest?

Or were you just bored?

…

I might be wrong but I don’t believe any of those hypotheses to be correct.

...

It’s futile, I know, to expect that sort of thing from you. Even if you were on the other end of the line, you wouldn’t give me any satisfactory explanation.

I’m not saying that you’re a liar.

Just someone full of evasive answers that end up doubling the amount of questions.

…

I believe Shizuo also has a lot to ask you.

…

If you ever bother to listen to this message, I believe that now is the part where you start sulking, muttering something along the lines of ‘Now now, Shinra, I don’t see how that is any of your business’. before reminding me that this is the reason you never wanted me to know about you two on the first place, that I should go look for Celty instead of trying to get in the middle of your personal life.

Well, Celty is worried about Shizuo. So am I.

He’s my friend too, Izaya.

Your constant disappearances always mattered very little to me, but this time you left behind some sort of path of destruction. And despite knowing you for long, despite being completely aware that you twist people’s minds to their limit, I want to believe that your selfishness prevented you from realizing you left Shizuo torn into shreds.

By the way, did it also cut yourself in the process?

...

Well, it’s not as if you’d admit that sort of thing out loud...

I’m not saying that you’re a liar.

Just someone in perpetual denial of many things.

…

It's certain to me that you didn’t have a big fight that led to a break-up.

Shizuo is, for once, not angry. This sort of behavior is so extremely out of his character that when I touched the subject of your disappearance and he fell silent I realized a detail I hadn’t before:

You never announced you were leaving.

…

I’m right, aren’t I?

You probably woke up in the middle of the night and left. Perhaps he was still sleeping at your bed when you put on your coat on, unaware that there was something wrong.

And now what? Are you coming back in two, three weeks? A year? And for what? So you can pick up the pieces that are left to play some more?

…

I am definitely curious about what kind of broken logic you came up with this time to explain sneaking out of your own apartment in the middle of the night.

Because you got bored? Because it’s fun?

Because you must break people so you can love every shatter?

Because you can’t love a single person since you’re _so in love_ with humanity as a whole?

Because you catched a glimpse of Shizuo’s humanity?

…

I bet you never considered that it might be because you are more fragile than the people you toy with. That it was terrifying how human you yourself felt around him.

…

I suppose it doesn’t matter… Even if you actually pondered about this possibility, the outcome would be a lie.

To me.

To Shizuo.

To yourself.

I’m not saying that you’re a liar—

—except that you are.”

  

* * *

 

_A dark alley, Ikebukuro.  
10:40 P.M. _

 

They were around twenty-three on that specific Thursday.

The day the strongest man of Ikebukuro allowed himself to cry.

Up until that moment, Shizuo had never understood the concept of a silent cry. His feelings were something wild that roared as loud as the ocean in the middle of a storm and silence never felt enough to express his pain. He would cry everything out, rip the pain out of his chest with bare hands, yell so the entire world knew how much it hurt, and then he would put himself together once more.

But not on that day.

_“This is Orihara Izaya. I can’t answer you at the moment, but feel free to leave a mess—”_

Three months had passed.

Ninety-two days since that quiet pain coiled itself up inside of his chest.

A faint ache that hid behind every breathe he took.

A tight knot in his throat that allowed no sobs.

Shizuo leaned against a wall in the alley, a forgotten piece of shadow that seemed too far away from the crowded streets surrounding it. His fingers moved over the cellphone keys as if rehearsing dialing that number again just to listen to his voice.

(Had he announced his leaving, would that change anything?)

_Yes._

_I’d hold him tighter despite his complaints._

_I’d kiss him for a while longer so the taste wouldn’t leave me so soon._

_I’d—_

(Would you ask him why?)

…

_“This is Orihara Izaya. I can’t answer you at the moment, but feel free to—”_

Izaya had more than a handful of idiosyncrasies Shizuo was aware of; he would spend hours staring at a Go board, moving pieces from different games around while a black piece of chess — usually the king — danced around his fingers; he would organize each one of his cellphones on top of his nightstand before getting into bed; he would have the hood of his jacket up when trying to mingle with the crowd of common people surrounding him, unaware that this made him stand out even more.

He would completely vanish from Tokyo from time to time, leaving behind him nothing but traces of uncertainty.

Were his disappearances been measures of protection from his shady dealings with the mob or simply a selfish way to reiterate his unrestrained personality?

Was he in any sort of danger or just scared?

_“This is Orihara Izaya. I can’t answer you at the mome—”_

Shizuo knew better than asking him.

He would resign himself to a bed that seemed too cold, lie among sheets that once wrapped Izaya’s body, hold his cellphone in expectancy he would get a message of any sort.

_“This is Orihara Izaya. I can’t answer you at—”_

He would wait for him as he always did.

He would hope he wouldn’t leave again.

_“This is Orihara Izaya. I–”_

Albeit knowing that he would.

Leaving nothing but a record message as a goodbye.

_“This is–”_

Shizuo’s lips parted with a strangled sob and he smiled bitterly upon the thought that this would be the sort of message Izaya would be pleased to hear.

The weakness of the strongest man of Ikebukuro.

Lowering his head, Shizuo felt as the knot in his throat slowly came undone.

He tried to hold it back,

but his chest felt hollow and heavy.

He tried to hold it back,

but his vision was blurry with tears.

He tried to hold it back,

but his cry trailed dry across his throat.

He tried to hold it back,

but his cheeks were already damp.

A behavior that fit a beast, crawling into a dark alley to cry his feelings out.

Shizuo cried as the night died upon him, until there was enough tears to drown that heart of his that always felt too much and too wrong. He cried as if expecting that when it stopped he would forget how his name sounded when in Izaya’s mouth.

(Shizu-chan.)

How those reddish eyes had a different shade when looking at him.

(Shizu-chan.)

How loneliness felt bearable when shared.

“... Shizu-chan?”

It took him another dozen tears to raise his head to the silhouette mingling with the shadows around him. Shizuo blinked a few times and stared at Izaya with wide eyes that seemed afraid that he would vanish at any moment.

“What’s wrong?”

His feigned innocence felt like a blade, sliding sharp against Shizuo’s skin and Izaya stood still when the blonde’s fist crossed the space between them, missing his face by less than an inch.

The sudden anger that prompted him to open a hole on the wall didn’t last more than a second, for he blinked away a few more tears and noticed Izaya wasn’t smiling. He remained calm as Shizuo trembled, hesitated for a moment before taking the hand next to him and slowly kissing his bloody knuckles.

“What are you doing here?”

Izaya’s eyes raised to met Shizuo’s. He kissed his hand again before muttering:

“Do you want me to leave?”

“I do”, opposing to his own words, Shizuo held Izaya’s waist and pulled him closer. “I want you gone. You… You shouldn’t have come back. Why are you here?”

Their lips brushed before Shizuo pressed his forehead against Izaya’s. He closed his eyes in an attempt of keeping away the tears, but they kept running relentless against his cheeks. Izaya leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth, reaching for Shizuo’s lips with his fingertips and hesitating before touching them.

“I came back for Shizu-chan.”

“Liar.”

“I missed you.”

(What a cruel way to slay a monster.)

_Right now he doesn’t look like a monster. He’s almost too—_

(Human?)

“All you keep telling me are lies”, Shizuo cried against his fingertips, kissing them with every word said. “And… The worst part is that you make me want to believe in them.”

Izaya cupped his face to stare at him. There was still no hint of a smile once they kissed.

Tasted as bitter as Shizuo’s despair.

“I am not running away anymore.”

“Liar.”

They kissed,

Shizuo’s lips were chapped and tremble with sobs,

and Izaya kissed him again.

Tasted like longing.

“This…”, he muttered against Izaya’s mouth. “This thing that you do. It hurts me so much more than every blade you ever threw at me.”

They kissed,

Izaya’s lips skimmed across his cheeks as he kissed the tear stains and whispered next to his eyes:

“I thought you said you didn’t feel pain.”

They kissed,

as if it could ease Shizuo’s pain—

“I’m sorry.”

_“Liar.”_

—or, perhaps, worsen it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading and I hope that you enjoy pain as much as I do. <3


	5. Tasted like coffee.

_Orihara Izaya’s bed, Shinjuku._   
_4:11 A.M._

 

 

“‘zaya.”

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Izaya stilled upon hearing Shizuo’s grunt. Being called by name seemed to take him by surprise, and before he was able to come up with an answer an arm hooked him by his waist and Shizuo pulled him back to within his reach.

From the soft sheets that touched his skin to Shizuo’s warm breath against the back of his neck, everything in that bed seemed almost to insist in soothing Izaya’s senses. A dissatisfied sigh left his lips before they quirked into a smile that Shizuo couldn’t see.

“Are you becoming a light sleeper? That won’t do. How am I supposed to get up to work if you keep pulling me back? Our working hours don’t exactly match.”

“Bullshit.”

“And why’s that?”

“It’s 4AM.”

Shizuo’s voice was but a mumble and Izaya could hear the drowsiness in the words muttered next to his ear.

“I can’t sleep. Sounds much more interesting to make an actual use of my time instead of laying down while waiting for the exhaustion to catch up with m—”

“‘zaya.”

“Mm?”

_“Shut up.”_

Izaya felt the arms around him tightening as if it emphasized Shizuo’s resolution to not let go of him. Complaints died halfway through his tongue once he felt a pair of lips ghosting against the back of his neck.

Shizuo dropped the first kiss on the line between Izaya’s skin and hair.

“Shizu-chan won’t let go?”

“Mm-hmm.” he denied.

The second kiss sent shivers crawling under his skin and was lazily followed by a third.

“You know, tomorrow is expected to snow.”

“Mm?”

“Yea. So I was planning on hitting a nearby store to buy a few things.”

The fourth kiss was left on top of his jugular.

“Mm-hmm.”

“O, yea? But there's no more milk.”

Shizuo frowned, arms hesitating around Izaya for half a second before he pulled him closer with a kiss left behind his ear.

“Mm-hmm.” he mumbled.

Another on his jaw.

“O, what’s that? Not even to get milk?”

“Mm-hmm.” he repeated.

Then a couple of kisses lazily left on the side of his neck.

The last one was but a brush of lips against skin and a smile touched Shizuo’s mouth upon noticing as Izaya tilted his hair slightly to offer him more skin.

“Am I being hold captive in my own bed?”

“‘zaya.”

“Yes?”

“You talk too much. Shut up.”

Izaya’s lips parted to let slip two or three taunts that sounded very familiar against his tongue, but Shizuo’s nosetip tracing irregular lines against his skin was enough to silence him with a pleasant shiver that left a shadow of a smile in his face.

“Mmmm, I believe I can stay in bed a little longer.”

"Mmm."

(How reckless,

offering your neck to a beast like this.)

“Shizu-chan will definitely be the death of me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Orihara Izaya’s kitchen, Shinjuku._   
_3:47 A.M._

 

They were around twenty-five on that specific Friday.

“Izaya, we’re out of milk.”

Shizuo’s tone was unusually urgent and left some sort of seriousness between the lines of the silence that followed, but Izaya remained uninterested in any information regarding milk. His mind focused completely on Shizuo’s choice of words, eyes narrowing as his sentence echoed in his mind repeatedly.

We’re out of milk.

 _We_.

He could have used, pondered Izaya while tapping his fingertips against the mug of coffee on his hands, at least fifteen sentences to express the gravity of running out of milk in the middle of the weekend. But he had chosen to use we.

He had no reason to. It probably just felt right to him, the same way it sounded ridiculously comfortable to Izaya’s ears.

And, yet, remained a foreign word on his tongue.

“I-za-ya-kun.”

Blinking out of his thoughts, Izaya raised his gaze to meet the eyes of the man in front of him at the same time one of his hands held his chin up firmly.

“We are—”

(Ridiculously comfortable.)

“—out of milk. I heard you, Shizu-chan.”

“And now what?”

“Well, now _we_ —”

(Absurdly foreign.)

“—will have to drink something else since the nearby stores are most likely to be closed.”

(When did this word became reality?)

“Drink something… what?” Shizuo asked, frowning at Izaya as the feeling of offense turned into one of outrage without his noticing.

“Aw, come on. Don’t sulk. Shizu-chan should try some coffee.”

“I hate coffee.”

Shizuo’s statement came out a little harsh than expected and Izaya leaned against the kitchen door to stare at his knit brows as if fascinated.

“Have you ever tried it?”

“Of course I did.” mumbled Shizuo, crossing his arms while lowering his eyes and finishing the sentence with an unclear grunt about his childhood.

Izaya listened to his vague groans with a smirk on his face.

“So you only tried it once?”

“... Well…”

“When you were a kid and all you liked were puddings.”

His sentences weren’t questions anymore but a building of a hypothetical scenario in his mind.

“You tried it back then and disliked the taste. And swore an undying hatred to it, since you never even bother trying it again.”

“... It wasn’t like th—”

“Do you even remember what it tastes like?”

“...”

“Perhaps you never got to the point of actually disliking the taste of coffee, but decided to hate it because it burned your tongue. That is a possibility, isn’t it?”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Shizu-chan is always so extreme.”

“...”

“A lot changed since you were a child.”

“I loved puddin’ back then and I still love it.”

“Always with love and hate, mm? No inbetween.”

“There is no inbetween.”

“Is that so?”

“Do you believe I’m gonna love it?”

“Not exactly love it, no. Perhaps like it just a little bit.”

“Then I’m gonna hate it.”

Izaya’s lips parted as he gazed up at Shizuo, but he seemed to reconsider his words and swallowed them back with another sip of his coffee. The black mug covered his mouth for no more than an instant, but when Shizuo could take another glimpse of his lips, its corners were twisted on his usual smirk as if they hadn’t just faltered.

“Coming to love something you hate sounds highly unlikely, don’t you think?”

They both knew he wasn’t exactly talking about coffee.

Only silence followed his question and Izaya sighed at the answers left unsaid. He made his way through the kitchen, slowly approaching under Shizuo’s wary gaze, and took another sip of coffee once he had cornered him against kitchen cupboards.

“Improbable.” his words came out in whispers, as light as the hand that surrounded Shizuo’s neck “Yet not impossible, _ne_?”

Izaya kissed his lower lip softly before pulling back, chuckling as Shizuo found himself leaning closer in anticipation for the kiss that didn’t came right away. The mug was taken to his mouth once more and as reddish eyes scanned the subtle movements of Shizuo’s lips in his search for something to say, Izaya casually drank more coffee.

“Impossible.” he mumbled with a hoarse voice.

His answer consisted in shrug, and Shizuo observed as he put the coffee down.

It was quickly replaced—against Izaya’s mouth—by Shizuo’s lips as he was pulled closer.

Izaya kissed his lips slowly, almost tenderly, enjoying as shivers climbed through his spine. He had a warm mouth against Shizuo’s tongue, a soft pair of hands that touched his neck featherly and a razorblade smile that was felt cutting through their kiss.

When he pulled back again, Shizuo leaned closer as if their lips weren’t meant to separate.

“How was it?”

“I couldn’t tell” he muttered with closed eyes and half of a smile on his lips “Let’s do it again.”

Before Izaya could reply, Shizuo kissed him again.

He tasted like black coffee.

A bitter lover.

Shizuo frowned at it, but kissed him again nonetheless.

“Do you hate it?”

“Yes. I hate it very much.”

They kissed.

Tasted like caffeine,

and he took him to his lips again.

A sip after the other.

“Won’t you come to love it?”

“Impossible.”

A smile separated their lips briefly as Shizuo changed their positions and pressed Izaya against the kitchen wall, a low whisper left inside of his mouth:

“It might cause you insomnia.”

“You already do.”

They kissed again.

There was nothing sweet about it.

“It might burn you.”

Shizuo knew Izaya could scald his mind—

_“You already do.”_

—but still drank him quickly with no fear of getting burned.


	6. Tasted like sin.

_Orihara Izaya’s apartment, Shinjuku_  
_7:12 P.M._

 

They were around twenty-three on that specific Saturday.

(Saturday?

No, it’s definitely a Sunday.

Or maybe not. Perhaps a business day?

How long has it been?)

They hadn’t left the apartment for days.

Izaya gave the first phone call—he had Namie’s number on speed dial and quickly came with a handful of elaborate excuses to give her a couple of days off, paying little to no attention at the almost tangible mistrust of her words.

“What are you up to?” she asked and Izaya smirked upon feeling Shizuo’s lips tracing his neck.

“As usual, you imply that I’m always about to wreck havoc. That’s mean.”

He hung up on her as Shizuo left purplish marks near his shoulders, lips parting with a pleased sigh as he was coaxed to his lap.

“Your turn.”

Shizuo gave the second phone call—he didn’t enjoy lying as much as Izaya did and fumbled with excuses. Hadn’t his boss been too busy, had him given Shizuo enough time to keep lying, he was sure to ruin his own story.

“Sure. Take as long as you need.” he said and Shizuo closed his eyes as Izaya nibbled one of his ears.

“Thank you.” He hung up on him as Izaya licked the salt on his skin and his words got lost among the path his mouth made against his chest.

Izaya’s tongue was a weapon and Shizuo was a hostage to his kisses.

“How long?”

(How long can we stay like this?

How long has it been?)

“A few days.”

The days became a week.

A week became two.

Two weeks became forever.

(What day is today?)

They stopped counting days, they lost track of the hours, they enjoyed every second as bare bodies pressed against each other.

They lost themselves on that room, but still found each other among sheets.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Orihara Izaya’s bed, Shinjuku_  
_3:20 A.M._

 

“Your face. It haunts me.”

The eyes that met Shizuo’s had a different shade of red on that evening. A lewd color that tainted half-lidded eyes, repeating itself on the curve of swollen lips and leaving tracks across Izaya’s cheeks.

He stared at Shizuo and took his hands to his face, removing the wisps of tousled, blond hair that fell in front of his eyes.

“That’s not a very nice way to start a pillow talk.”

Ignoring his reply, Shizuo kept mumbling to himself.

“I’ve never seen something that beautiful.” he raised one of his hands to touch Izaya’s lips, contouring it’s shape with the tip of his thumb. “Feels like I’m playing with the devil himself, mm? So pretty and yet so rotten.”

Izaya’s lips quirked into a smirk as Shizuo kept silently observing his features. He rested on top of him; chin supported by Izaya’s chest as it move to the cadence of an accelerate breath, and legs tangled beneath crumpled sheets.

Izaya hummed a tune Shizuo couldn’t recognize as he kept playing with his hair.

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’m indeed the devil.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Mmm, is that so?”

“I’ve been dancing with the devil for years now.”

“That long?”

“That long.”

“Right. But let me tell you a very important thing you must learn about dancing with the devil…” Izaya’s words were followed by an agile, graceful movement. Before the words could sink in Shizuo’s mind, their position was reversed and Izaya was on top, straddling him. He bowed to lick his neck and Shizuo felt his sharp tongue slashing his throat before Izaya whispered against his salty skin. “... you’re never the one leading.”

Shizuo looked surprised for an instant, but then smirked at the way the moonlight sneaked through the window to outline Izaya’s lean figure.

He seemed to gleam as if something holy,

but the tongue that slid against Shizuo’s collar bones felt godless.

Their lips locked and Shizuo rolled over to throw Izaya against the mattress. He caught his breath with a loud gasp against Shizuo’s mouth, but before being able to articulate any complaints, he was being kissed again.

“I can still try.” lips skimmed over his jaw and the blond’s whispers tingled against his skin.

They kissed,

Izaya looked divine but his touches were sinful.

As if he was an angel cast out of heaven by God.

“Are you willing to make a deal with me?” Izaya breathed, his red lips lingering against Shizuo’s as both his legs hooked around his waist.

“Maybe. What do you have to offer to me?”

“Heaven.”

“I have no interest in heaven.”

“O, yea?”

“You wouldn’t be there.”

Izaya let out a low chuckle as he watched Shizuo leaving a path of kisses near his ribs and gave a loopsided smile at the shivers that climbed his spine.

“Hell, then?”

“Sounds more like it.”

“What is Shizu-chan gambling? His soul?”

“Along with my sanity.”

They kissed again.

Shizuo’s hands claimed to touch every curve of the body under his as if it was something sacred,

and Izaya’s touches burned his skin as if they were flames of hell.

They kissed once more,

Shizuo’s tongue trailed Izaya’s neck as he surrendered to one sin after the other.

Shifting positions one more time, Izaya watched him from above—the same way angels observe mortals.

They filled the room with incomprehensible whispers, faltering blessings, unclear prays. Izaya offered the open doors of hell and Shizuo pleaded for absolution, kissing the man on top of him as if begging for salvation.

“Are you accepting your sins?” Izaya was the embodiment of Shizuo’s deadly sins and he could feel the seven of them seeping through those soft, red lips that parted against him.

“I’m begging for them.”

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

They hid against that sharp tongue, and Izaya recited each one of them between kisses and whispers.

 _“Gula”_ he said before a pair of hungry, red eyes ran through Shizuo’s body. He bowed just enough for their lips to brush for a moment, backing off just to be followed by the man under him, who propped on his elbows to keep their mouths near and their eyes locked.

 _“Gula”_ agreed Shizuo, for he knew Izaya was the embodiment of his famine. Of his selfishness. Of his _gluttony_.

And he kissed him as if he could consume him whole.

 _“Acedia.”_ drawled Izaya before leaving lazy kisses that made a path from Shizuo’s collar bones to his chest. A pair of callous hands skimmed around his lean frame with no hint of urgency and Shizuo took his time feeling every curve of the body on top of him.

 _“Acedia.”_ agreed Shizuo, for he knew Izaya was the embodiment of his lethargy. Of his lazyness. Of his _sloth_.

And he kissed him as if he never wanted to leave those sheets.

 _“Avaritia.”_ sighed Izaya before sliding his arms around Shizuo’s neck, lips parting just enough so he could drop a moan against Shizuo’s ear. ‘ _I want more', 'Give me more', 'More'_. Their positions changed one more time and Shizuo felt him shudder between his arms once their hips met.

 _“Avaritia.”_ agreed Shizuo, for he knew Izaya was the embodiment of his yearning. Of his possessiveness. Of his _greed_.

And he kissed him as if more wasn’t enough.

 _“Ira.”_ hissed Izaya before his hands roamed the other’s back, nails leaving red welts on his skin and teeth grazing the angles of his jaw. Shizuo’s fingers entwined with black hair, yanking his head back so he could sink his teeth on his neck until skin was about to break.

 _“Ira.”_ agreed Shizuo, for he knew Izaya was the embodiment of his impatience. Of his destruction. Of his _wrath_.

And he kissed him as if he loved violence.

 _“Invidia.”_ gasped Izaya before his lips found the curve of Shizuo’s neck, mouth drawing a collection of marks against his skin. A pair of firm hands held his waist with enough force to bruise and Shizuo wondered if that meant no other skin would feel the shivers that trembled that body under his.

 _“Invidia.”_ agreed Shizuo, for he knew Izaya was the embodiment of his jealousy. Of his suspicions. Of his _envy_.

And he kissed him as if that meant Izaya was his and his only.

 _“Superbia.”_ whispered Izaya before Shizuo once again called for his name, the sound climbing the walls and echoing on his mind. Their lips locked and pleas were breathed into his lungs. _Shizu-chan_ , they said. _Shizu-chan,_ they repeated.

 _“Superbia.”_ agreed Shizuo, for he knew that Izaya was the embodiment of his ego. Of his confidence. Of his _pride_.

And he kissed him as if he knew he was the only one that could make Izaya feel that way.

 _“Luxuria.”_ moaned Izaya before his legs hooked Shizuo’s waist once more, back arching against the mattress. They rolled among sheets and their mismatched breaths separated their lips as Izaya sat on top of him. Shizuo reached for his mouth, sitting on the bed as he held him close and fingertips prevented their lips to touch. Izaya let out a smirk between flushed cheeks, chest moving to a fast pace and a single, faltered ' _fuck'_ panted against his own fingertips.

It reverberated against Shizuo’s lungs, set them on fire, scratched his throat and buzzed in his mind.

 _“Luxuria.”_ agreed Shizuo, for he knew that Izaya was the embodiment of his desires. Of his needs. Of his _lust_.

Izaya was the devil.

And Shizuo was a devout to his lips.

“Lead me straight to hell.” he muttered against Izaya’s fingertips with a hoarse voice that scratched through his throat. 

Izaya chuckled and ran the fingers over the parted lips that breathed against them.

“To hell and back.” he drawled “I’ll make it feel like heaven."

Shizuo kissed him between his fingers and kissed him again once he removed them.

He kept kissing him and the walls heard as he repeated his name.

Whisper of worship—

to the devil,

who looked like a fallen angel,

and made a monster feel human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't notice, I changed the rating because of this very specific chapter. Also added a couple more tags because I keep forgetting to do so. Hahah.  
> Anyway, I really hope that you enjoy this chapter as much as I did while writing it!  
> Kudos and comments are always very much appreciated. <3 Thank you!


	7. Tasted like defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Jusic, for creating the idea of this scene with me. I kind of love you sometimes. <3

_Orihara Izaya’s apartment, Shinjuku_   
_5:47 P.M._

 

They were around twenty-six years old on that specific Sunday.

An afternoon that displayed a vivid orange sky before giving space to a couple of heavy clouds that brought the smell of autumn and a soothing melody as raindrops splattered against the big windows of Izaya’s apartment.

When Shizuo left the shower, he came to find him sitting alone on his office with enough silent thoughts to fill the entire room and a chessboard resting on his lap. The black king that danced among Izaya’s fingers hesitated briefly once he felt Shizuo turning his chair around before bowing to drop a lazy kiss on his lips.

Izaya let out a pleased hum, hands finding their way to Shizuo’s shirt and gripping on the fabric as lips parted to welcome him.

A kiss on the mouth that preceded a brush of the tip of his nose against his jaw.

That announced another kiss dropped on his chin before Shizuo reached back for his lips.

They kissed.

Shizuo smiled at how familiar his taste felt against his tongue and kissed him again.

It tasted safe. Adequate.

And, yet, there was something off about Izaya.

A foreign feeling lingered on his throat, feeling like a thick rope about to suffocate him.

Because Orihara Izaya wore his feelings around his neck.

(A hangman game.)

He endured the sensation and quirked the lips he offered to Shizuo to kiss, presenting him that usual smile that rarely faltered.

“What’s wrong?”

Izaya hesitated between shared kisses upon feeling Shizuo’s lips moving against his as he spoke. It lasted a fraction of a second and once his eyes were open to lock with the brown eyes that analyzed his expression, they expressed nothing but amusement.

(Aren’t you always sharp?)

His long fingers roamed around Shizuo’s chest with playful touches meant to leave a succession of shivers crawling under his skin, and Izaya leaned closer enough to kiss him one more time. Shizuo unwittingly closed his eyes and expected to feel the touch of those soft lips in front of him, but what he felt against his mouth were whispers.

“Did Shizu-chan missed me during his shower?”

“Are you trying to change the—”

Words died before reaching his mouth once Shizuo felt Izaya sucking his lower lip.

“Maybe I should have sneaked in, mm? It’s been a while since we did it in there.”

“Izaya.”

His response was another kiss.

But Izaya tasted different.

Izaya _felt_ different.

Because Orihara Izaya wore his feelings around his neck.

He was left helpless with a knot around his throat, and not even the sudden urgency he brought to Shizuo’s lips was enough to mask it.

“Izaya…”

Before he had the chance to finish his sentence, Izaya stood up and words were devoured in a kiss that announced the hints of desperation hidden behind languid movements. With a push, Shizuo was coaxed to sit on the leather chair Izaya had just left and as soon as an exclamation of surprise left his lips, he felt him straddling his legs and sitting on his lap.

“Izaya.”

“It’s also been a while since we did it here, mm?”

“Izaya, what—?”

He pulled him closer and kissed him with an open mouth that twisted in a smile.

“Mmm. I can take the rest of the day off if you give me enough good reasons.”

Shizuo parted his lips to answer but Izaya kissed his words away.

His hands roamed under his shirt as he kissed him again.

His body pressed against Shizuo’s and he kissed him again.

Again.

And again.

Shizuo let him and kissed him back each time, waiting for the urgency to wear off so Izaya’s soft lips wouldn’t taste like his obvious despair to avoid questions.

“Are you done?”

His words were just a whisper left near Izaya’s ears. His lips stopped near the blond’s neck on half their way to suck his skin, eyes widening as his mouth lacked words, and Shizuo knew that the fragile instant of his hesitation was only genuine because he couldn’t see his face.

“...”

“Your silences are always some sort of bad omen.”

(Always sharp.)

Shizuo’s voice held some seriousness that silenced every taunt that tried to reach the other’s tongue. Izaya remained in silence, face hiding on the curve of his neck as the rope around his throat felt tighter.

“Izaya, is…”

“...” “

Is this that same silence that precedes your disappearances?”

( _Sharp_.

Like a beast.)

And the knot became tighter.

Izaya backed off to stare at him and hints of red peeked through half lidded eyes that ran over the blond, tousled hair hovering Shizuo’s face. One of the corners of his lips raised, and behind the lopsided smile he presented, the constraint around his throat left him silent for a moment longer than needed.

“I told Shizu-chan I’m not running away anymore.”

His words came with smiles and a soft kiss on Shizuo’s mouth.

Tasted like a blatant, familiar lie.

When not a single word followed, Shizuo was left with a bitter taste on his tongue and the realization that Izaya’s silence could be worse than his lies.

His hands surrounded the lean frame on top of him, resting on the curve of his waist for a moment before Shizuo broke the silence with a loud sigh.

“I want to play a game.”

“A game?”

“I want to win your truth. There can’t be a winner if no one makes the first move, so we should play.” Shizuo said, gesturing towards the forgotten chessboard that once took place on Izaya’s lap and now rested on top of the desk to their right.

“Chess? Shouldn’t we move to a simpler game that requires less intellect?”

Izaya expected a frown, but Shizuo smirked at him instead.

“Are you that afraid of losing, I-za-ya-kun?”

He leaned forward as if to kiss him, only to avert his lips once Izaya had closed his eyes in anticipation.

“I know for a fact” Shizuo whispered next to his ear “That you only play when victory is certain.”

“...”

“What do you say? We’ll give honest answers to each other for every move made. And if I win, you’ll give me the truth.”

“About what?”

“Why do you keep leaving.”

(A hangman,

with a very tight rope around his neck.)

“If you want to deal information with me, all you need to do is set an appointment.”

“Yes or no, Izaya.”

“You make it sounds like a game that only I can lose.”

“Yes or no?”

“Is this a challenge?” “

Is this a yes?”

Izaya’s eyes traveled to the checkerboard on his desk and then went back to Shizuo’s face. They locked eyes for a second and then Izaya reached for his shirt, pulling him closer with a tug that ended the space between his lips.

“ _Yes_. Play with me.” he muttered against Shizuo’s mouth.

“No lies?”

“No lies.”

That, Shizuo noticed, was already a lie on its own.

A rather familiar one.

 

* * *

 

_Orihara Izaya’s living room, Shinjuku_   
_6:12 P.M._

 

Orihara Izaya wore his feelings around his neck,

and it wasn’t pretty when they decided to suffocate him.

Shizuo observed as he stared the chessboard between them with lost eyes that didn’t seem to see anything. They followed as the blond’s hand guided a white pawn through black and white, raising to meet his gaze once he placed it on the chosen square.

They were both silent for a few minutes, and then Shizuo spoke:

“Shinra once told me something interesting about that afternoon, ten years ago, when we met.”

“What surprises me is that you would take anything Shinra tells you into account.”

“What happened on that day?”

Izaya’s eyes locked with Shizuo, his expression unreadable.

“Is that your first question?”

“Yes.”

“Very well...” Izaya’s lips quirked on a smile that brought some sort of amusement to his eyes. “I had never seen anything that could compare to you. You were too intense, too fascinating, and observing you from afar didn’t feel like enough… So I wanted to play.”

“Is a stab in the chest your idea of fun?”

He shrugged, movements as nonchalant as his tone.

“I’ve met a monster and he showed me his fangs, so I offered my neck.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“Was there anything to be scared of?”

Shizuo remained quiet, staring at the lonely pawn at the center of the board between them. Izaya accepted the silence he offered, calmly reading the very subtle changes on his face with a pair of curious eyes.

“I have never been afraid of Shizu-chan.” he added, immediately looking down to avert the wide eyes that tried to meet his in search for a confirmation to what he had just said.

"..."

“I believe it’s my turn now.” Izaya shrugged once more, tapping the black king with the index finger before moving one of his pawns. “What exactly did Shinra tell you?”

“That your exact words upon laying your eyes on me were ‘ _I want that’_.”

“Mmm.”

“Is it true?”

“Aren’t you supposed to make a move before asking?”

Shizuo slid a piece across the chessboard without paying much attention to the game. His eyes remained focused on Izaya’s expression as he repeated:

“Is it true?”

“Yes.”

“Izaya, do you…?”

His hesitation preceded a silence that left a bad feeling on Izaya’s mouth. He nodded his head negatively and pointed at the pieces scattered through black and white squares.

“You’ve made your question and now it’s my turn again.”

“Do you still want me?”

“Shizu-chan, that’s cheating. Will we have to declare you forfeit?”

“I want you too, Izaya.”

“...”

Orihara Izaya wore his feelings around his neck,

and they kept him tied to Shizuo.

“Stop leaving.”

(Only two moves.

And he has put you under attack.

 _Check_.)

“I told you already that I am not run—”

“Yes, you said it. And you also said ‘no lies’.”

Izaya’s eyes narrowed at him, seeming sharper and sharper as seconds went by.

“I wonder, Shizu-chan, why should I play by the rules when you yourself is purposefully disregarding them. It’s my turn.”

Shizuo shifted a frustrated gaze from Izaya to the gameboard between them, sighing heavily and nodding his head as if defeated.

“Alright, your move. Ask away.”

“What were you thinking back then, when we met?”

“I had a bad, _very bad_ feeling about you.”

“How come?”

“Your eyes.” scratching the back of his head, Shizuo looked up and knit his brows in a frown. “I felt as if I was about to be devoured.”

A twist played on Izaya’s lips once he leaned towards the man in front of him, resting his elbows on both knees and cupping his chin with one hand. Shizuo followed as his thumb slowly traced the crooked curve of the smile broadening over his lips, venturing to shift his gaze to those inquisitive eyes that pierced him.

Unwittingly, he leaned closer.

Some sort of madness hid through the distinct color of Izaya’s eyes and Shizuo embraced it with no second thoughts.

He leaned closer.

Closer.

Until it was too close and he could lose himself on them without a single regret.

He came to notice his movements only when practically bending over the chessboard, Izaya’s face close enough for their noses to brush and their mouths separated by Izaya’s fingertips that rhythmically tapped his lower lip.

“Yea…” Shizuo’s voice came out in a hoarse mumble that scratched his throat. Closing his eyes, he swallowed. “Just like that.”

“For me, to devour a monster.” Izaya chuckled was heard and Shizuo tilted his head in request for him to remove the fingers, but they persisted against his mouth. “Is that even possible?”

“Impossible never seemed to stop you.”

He leaned his head again asking, pleading for a kiss, but felt only a pair of cold fingertips touching his lower lip.

“Shizu-chan, the game.”

“Mmm?”

“It’s your turn.”

Shizuo felt Izaya’s whispers touching his lips and opened his eyes slowly once the words found their meanings in his mind. He moved away with a heavy sigh that revealed both frustration and impatience and glanced at the board for a moment before sliding his knight through the squares.

“Chess is not exactly the game you play when alone.”

“That is not a question.”

“You play by your own rules and move the pieces according to people surrounding you. Right?”

“Sort of, yes.”

“Which one would I be?”

Izaya’s eyes left the black pieces in front of him and he glanced back at Shizuo with a new mischievous twist on his lips. Spreading his arms in a shrug gesture, he touched a few black pieces before asking:

“Which one do you believe you are?”

“Answering me with another question is against the rules.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

The smile on his lips widened as he shifted his gaze back to the chessboard between them. With a loud sigh, Izaya picked up a black pawn and raised it to his eye level, shifting the focus of his gaze from the piece to the man before him.

“You wouldn’t be a mere pawn, now would you?”

Before Shizuo could reply, he nodded his head negatively and put the pawn back at the square he had just left. With a click of his tongue, his fingertips reached for both the rook and the queen, touching but not moving them.

“No… Shizu-chan is a major piece.” Izaya said “And that leaves us with only two options. The rook is a very powerful piece to deliver a checkmate, but at the very beginning of the game it’s trapped by other pieces, so it must wait for others to clear the path in order to move across the board.

‘That doesn’t sound much like Shizu-chan, does it?

‘But the queen… The queen moves around as it pleases. It’s not just the strongest but also the only to roams free around the board, going to extreme lengths to fight for the King.”

Shizuo’s eyes followed the gracious movements of Izaya’s hands as he removed the queen from among other pieces and leaned towards him, closing upon feeling a chaste press of lips against his. Izaya’s hands reached for Shizuo’s as he conceded a second kiss, pressing the queen against the palm of his right hand as if delivering him the answer he expected.

“Does that make you my king?” he mumbled against Izaya’s lips and felt as the other man stilled upon hearing his words.

(The king.

Important, and yet—

—the weakest piece.

Moving around requiring sacrifices.

Helpless when left with no protection.

 _Check_.)

As he opened his mouth to respond, the knot around his throat tightened and words came undone against his tongue, feeling like a handful of ashes in his mouth. Upon hearing his deep sigh and feeling as the corners of the lips against his trembled with attempts to never falter, Shizuo realized that as Izaya lingered in the kiss they had just shared, he tried too desperately to reach for something to say.

But Orihara Izaya wore his feelings around his neck,

and as he searched for safe lies, the truth was about to choke him to death.

“Are you facing extreme lengths to fight for me?”

“Yes, I am.”

(Check.)

“I am but an observer.” he mumbled with a hoarse voice and a tremble smile “I might move one or two pawns to make things interesting, but I take no part on this game.”

“Liar.”

“I—”

“You play, alright. Because I drag you to the board to play with me. You might want to believe you remain as an observer, to keep the illusion that you’re some kind of god above us all, but you’re a piece of game just like me, Izaya. I am not playing alone.”

(Check.)

Izaya’s eyes darted from the black and white squares to the man in front of him. They seemed wide and scared and as soon as he tried to escape from Shizuo’s gaze, the latter held his chin between his index finger and his thumb, forcing their eyes to meet again.

“That might sound as something new to you, but you have been playing for a long, long time. I refuse to play if you’re not around, risking your neck the same way as I am, and even though you try to run and hide, you keep playing. So my next question to you is: why?”

(Check.)

Orihara Izaya wore his feelings around his neck,

and Shizuo was his executioner.

He tried to escape his grip, to look away in search of more lies to cover himself with, but Shizuo’s hand was firm as his eyes undressed Izaya’s from excuses. Leaning over the board after moving one of his pieces, Shizuo reached for Izaya’s mouth as if he could search for the true beneath those slightly parted lips.

They kissed.

Shizuo tasted like a lost battle,

like a sultry dessert,

like a toxic addiction,

like months of longing,

like a bittersweet lover,

like a hidden desire,

but, most of all, Shizuo tasted like defeat.

“Because it’s fun.”

“Liar.”

“Because I’m bored.”

“Liar.”

“Because—”

“Liar. Liar. Liar.”

They kissed again.

Shizuo’s hands slid through his jaw and Izaya felt once he smiled amid the kiss.

As if he knew the answer.

As if he had just won the truth.

Once their lips parted, Izaya lingered close to Shizuo with eyes closed and one of the corners of his mouth raised. His mind buzzed and the meaning of his words suddenly lost its impact, recklessly leaving his mouth in a whisper concurrent to Shizuo’s announcement:

“Checkmate.”

“Because I love you.”

Orihara Izaya wore his feelings around his neck,

and he gasped once everything beneath him fell.

His wide eyes stared at a startled Shizuo as Izaya tried to pick up the pieces of his masks. One of the sides of his lips raised in a terrifying attempt at smirking, only to crumble against Izaya’s mouth once again as Shizuo’s silence resonated against his ears.

That’s what he had got once he let his heart take the lead,

that fragile, brittle heart was left shattered through the floor.

With his words, with his smiles, with his laughs.

With wide eyes and a half opened mouth.

With Shizuo’s shocked silence.

(You lose.

Checkmate.)

“... You…?”

The silence fell heavy over their shoulders as Izaya’s eyes were filled with disbelief upon laying on the checkerboard left with Shizuo’s winning move.

Orihara Izaya wore his feelings around his neck,

and he saw it coming, a brutal ending that had always been impossible to avoid.

He was left bare and exposed, with his words around his throat.

Because love was not a victory march,

but a losing game.

Unable to rely on his own words and incapable of dealing with the feelings brought up with his confession, Izaya stood up. He turned on his heels, followed by Shizuo’s shocked eyes that watched as he picked up his coat and unlocked the front door.

“Izay—”

He slammed the door as he left.

In the silence that persisted, Shizuo heard the door slamming once, twice, three times. He heard Izaya’s confession left in whispers and heard the gasp that followed it. He heard the honesty on Izaya’s syllables and the fear in his silence.

As he reached for his cellphone, he heard the truth he had just won.

And as he took it to his ears, he only heard:

_“This is Orihara Izaya. I cannot answer you at the moment.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, this is the end! I'm kind of sorry for ending it like this instead of giving them a happy ending, but the same time I am not.~  
> Thank you so much for reading until here and I hope you enjoyed the fic.  
> Kudos and comments are always very much appreciated!


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